Flushed Away: A Change of Scene
by Firefall Bangenthump
Summary: Flushed Away Roddy and Rita are 'persuaded' to take a holiday following the dramatic events of the World Cup, but is it ever that simple for the pair? As events take a turn for the worse, it is up to Roddy to save the day with unlikely assistance.
1. A Fast Learner

_Flushed Away_, the characters and settings therein and all related material are the property of the genius-type bods at Aardman Animations and DreamWorks. I ask for their forgiveness for my (mis?)use of their wonderful creations in this piece, which I submit in tribute and with the fond hope that one day this site will have a dedicated _Flushed Away_ subsection...

* * *

The _Jammy Dodger II_'s thrusters rippled the water as Rita jockeyed to keep it stationary againt the current. The prize was astern of them, snagged against a twist of sharp but rusting wire that threatened to foul her propellers if she got too close. There had been a time- not long ago either, she reminded herself- that she would have been over the moon with such a find. It might have been enough to support her family for a week or more. But that was no longer a concern. For the first time in memory, the Malone family's future was secure. The reason for this windfall was hanging off the back of the Jammy Dodger II in a bosun's chair, taking enthusiastic but inexpert swipes at the prize with a boathook in between trying to keep his balance. 

Roderick St. James of Kensington had entered Rita's life in the strangest circumstances imaginable and within ten minutes of their first meeting had come close to ending it as well. Trust didn't come naturally to Rita, particularly in regard to oddly-dressed strangers who nearly get her killed, but necessity had forced them to work together and it turned out that each one held the key to the other's goals. She had navigated their way back to Kensington, although it cost her the _Jammy Dodger_ to do it. Once there, Roddy had answered all her prayers in two simple gestures, handing her the jewels which had changed her life. She no longer had to work the drains to get by, but the habit of a lifetime was hard to beat. Besides, it was much more fun now than it used to be, because Roddy had decided to abandon his above-ground life and stay with her in the aftermath of the Toad's attempted genocide. That was a few weeks ago now, and Roddy was proving to be a fast learner. His dinner suit was handing below, drying in the heat of the engines, and he was wearing clothing more suitable for a scavenger- simple but hard-wearing- but Roddy could make a luminous tartan kilt look stylish, right up until the point where he tried to do anything else with it. Rita leant on the cockpit rail for a moment and regarded her companion as he took another wild swing at the prize.

The prize was a wallet, and old one clearly dropped by some hapless human through the grate above them. It must have been some time ago, however, as the black leather was coated with a generous layer of slime which meant that anything short of a direct hit with the boathook would skim off like oil on water. Roddy's latest attempt was considerably short of a direct hit, and he overbalanced and fell in with a splash. He surfaced, spluttering. Rita shook her head, shoulders shaking with silent laughter, and activated the boat's mechanical arm to fish him out. He hung for a moment in the air, held up by his collar and spitting out water, before he looked up and met Rita's eyes. He grinned sheepishly.

"Blimey you cause me a lot of trouble, Roddy," she said. "You know you spend almost as much time in the water as the boat?"

"It's called method," said Roddy, defensively. "I am becoming one with the thing. It's called sophistication."

"It's called doing it wrong," said Rita.

"Oh, really? I thought that last one was rather good myself." He wrung out his shirt onto the deck, prompting Rita to suspend him so far outboard

that the boat began tipping slightly.

"Not on the deck! Not on the deck! You know that means I have to mop it up!"

"You mean make me mop it up, don't you?" Roddy grinned.

"Delegation is what captains do. And around here, that means me, right?" She cocked an eyebrow with mock seriousness. Roddy drew himself to as much attention as he could when being suspended by his collar and saluted.

"Yes sir, captain, skipper thingy!" He couldn't wipe the grin off his face as he repeated those last three words- the first ones he had said to Rita when they first met.

"That's miss captain, skipper thingy to you," shot back Rita, who remembered it just as well. "Now do you want to come back on board and I'll show you how it's done?"

She brought him back and lowered him onto the after deck before checking the thrusters again. The boat still had its hydrofoils, although the hydraulics were playing up again. The great outboard fans had been removed after Roddy had narrowly avoided being filleted by one. Rita didn't mind- they were large and noisy, two things which did not lend themselves to the delicate business of prospecting, and the fuel consumption was beyond a joke. Thanks to Roddy, money wasn't the worry that it once was, but Rita was too much one of her family to change that easily. Save and survive, that was her motto, although not necessarily in that order. She eyed the controls and made an adjustment so minute that only a skilled pilot would have noticed it before going aft with a second boathook. Roddy watched her as she took up position on the rail, exquisitely balanced and as sure-footed as a leopard.

"You're trying to hook into it," she said. "You gotta look at it differently. Make its shape work for you. You see that corner where the stitching is coming away?" She pointed to the far corner of the wallet where the leather was fraying. Roddy nodded. "That's your target. That's where the hook will catch. Like this-" Rita struck with snakebite speed, leaning far over the side of the boat, lashing out with the hook before straightening again, and was pulling the wallet towards the boat before gravity could work out what was going on. She climbed back to the deck, never losing her grip on the hook, and Roddy joined her to pull the prize aboard. It landed with a wet splatter, dripping water over the deck.

"You're not worried about that water?" asked Roddy.

"Nope," replied Rita. "'Cause I can just tell you to mop it up, remember? Besides, this is worth money."

"And I'm not?" said Roddy, feigning injured pride. Rita flicked his ear fondly.

"Oh, no, Roddy. You're priceless. I wouldn't pay any money for you."

It took Roddy a couple of seconds to realise the backhanded swipe that apparent compliment had contained but any chance for a smart response had passed by then and Rita was using the sharp edge of her hook to cut open the leather.

"It's cards," she said. "Just those plastic cards that humans seem to use so much. What good are they?"

"I think they're instead of money," said Roddy, cutting open a pocket. "Apparently they're more useful."

"Not to us they aren't. I call it inconsiderate."

"Hang on, I think I might have something here!" Roddy peered excitedly into the pocket as Rita joined him. "Oh...wait. Maybe not." The thing he fished out had probably been a twenty-pound note at one point, but the water had not been kind and had turned it into a vaguely slug-shaped multicoloured pulp. Rita slapped him on the back. "Roddy, I'll make a scavenger out of you yet. Come on, lend a hand here."

She knelt and began fishing around in the wallet, extracting three discs of metal which she passed to Roddy, who stacked them neatly.

"Two pound coins," he said. "And one twenty pence piece." He held up the oddly-shaped coin, which had once been silver but was now a disconcerting shade of green.

Rita nodded with satisfaction. Not the best haul she had ever got out of a wallet, but not to be sneezed at either. And once they scraped the slime off, the leather itself was in remarkably good condition. She began cutting it up into sheets to sell, passing each one to Roddy who hung them from a cable rigged from the stern to the cockpit. It ran over the engine's main heat sink and was therefore a good place to dry things.

"Rita," he said. "You can really leave this to me. Shouldn't you be driving the boat or something?"

"You don't drive a boat, Roddy," she said. "You steer it, sail it or pilot it. Your vocabulary isn't bad but there's a long way to-"

She stopped and realised that he had a point. She'd forgotten to check the thrusters that had been holding them steady. Dropping her hook, she ran to the cockpit just in time to see a glass bottle be carried past by the current. It struck the Jammy Dodger II a glancing blow, but that was enough to knock it off station. Rita slammed open the throttle in an attempt to avoid the inevitable. The boat lurched- behind her, a brief yell and a splash indicated that Roddy had fallen overboard again- and then the engine stopped with a horrendous scraping noise. The propeller had caught on the tangle of wire and stopped. The current pushed the boat around until it was stern-on to the water despite Rita's efforts with the rudder. Desperately, she hit the throttle again and to her surprise the propeller cut its way free of the wire- it had worked! She brought theboat around to where Roddy was hanging onto the wire.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" he said, waving.

"Permission granted," said Rita graciously. Roddy clambered back on as she turned the boat and made for home. Even to Roddy's inexpert ears, something was wrong. The propeller was making a scraping noise which suggested blade damage and a lot of it. Rita found herself forcing on left rudder in order to stay straight. It wasn't crippling damage but it was going to make life any easier. Roddy went below decks to check the engine space and poked his head back through the deck with a nervous smile.

"Um, Rita? You know how you were worried about the water on the deck?"

"Yes?"

"Um...I don't think the water on the deck is the water we should be concerned about."

* * *

"I've had worse," said Rita as the water swirled about her legs. Most of it was draining out of the scuppers as it should have been, but there was rather more of it than they could handle. The level was rising slowly- they were sinking. Once the water reached the engine, however, it all be academic since without engines, the Jammy Dodger II's pumps would stop. 

"Really?" asked Roddy, surprised.

"Not really, no," said Rita, after a moment's thought. "But it probably looks worse than it is."

Roddy stared. "There is water pouring into the boat, the propeller sounds worse than your grandmother's singing voice and the engines are about to drown. How bad should it look?"

"The water isn't 'pouring' in," said Rita. "Look, it's not rising that fast."

"I don't care if it's pouring in, seeping on, soaking in, entering or reverse-egressing," said Roddy, a little hotly. "This is a boat! The water stays on the outside!"

Rita thought for a moment. "All right, I know a trick that'll get us to port. Come on, I'll need your help with the wallet."

It wasn't easy, but eventually they manouevred the largest part of the wallet over the side. With Roddy holding it from one side, Rita pulled it across under the hull and attached it to the opposite rail. It wasn't perfect, but the water had stopped rising and once they started bucketing the water out it was clear that they were going to make it safely.

"They used to do it with canvas sails in the old days," said Roddy conversationally as he tipped a bucket over the side. "In the age of sail this was the only way to repair a hull. Those bold mariners knew a thing or two, didn't they?"

"Weren't Captains allowed to shoot people back then as well?" said Rita, smiling sweetly.

"Yes, but they also got on very well with their First Mates and didn't make them bucket out the hold." Roddy winked and disappeared below decks. His voice was muffled by the deck as he spoke. "I say, I can see the hole down here! It isn't that bad after all!"

Rita lowered herself down to join him. The hole was clearly visible now, a half-moon where the bottle had punched in the hull. "We should be able to fix that ourselves," she said.

"With the twenty-pence piece?" suggested Roddy.

"Good idea, First Mate!" said Rita, cheerfully. "But you'll need something to seal it with, and I don't know-" She stopped. Roddy had pulled a bag off the nearby shelf and was holding it triumphantly.

"Instant potato?"

"Calling this stuff potato is an insult to root vegetables," said Roddy. "Trust me on this."

Rita laughed and shook her head. It was easy to forget that Roddy had hidden talents. She had always suspected or known that, even when they'd first met if only because no creature could be that gormless and still be alive, but she still found herself surprised by him. Roddy accepted the unspoken compliment with a small bow and went to work with a pair of pliers, bending the tin hull back around and then sealing the coin over the top with a generous amount of potato. It leaked slightly before the water got into the potato mix and changed it to the consistency of wet concrete.

* * *

That didn't solve the propeller, however, and by the time they reached the outer ports of Ratropolis, it was making a noise like fingernails on a blackboard. Every hair on Rita's body was standing on end and her teeth were on edge as she eased the boat into the dock. Roddy, who had made himself earplugs out of potato, was unconcerned, and sat happily at the bows with a lead and line, calling out depth measurements. It wasn't uncommon for docks to become choked with rubbish and they didn't need any more unpleasant surprises. 

The dockmaster came out of the shack which served as his office and limped towards them, leaning heavily on a cane made out of a drawing pin with the point filed blunt.

"What can Oi be doing yer for?" he said, leering.

"We need to leave the boat here for a while," said Rita, crossing her arms. "And dry-docking for hull repairs."

The dockmaster eyed the _Jammy Dodger II_. He seemed to be thinking of something.

"Excuse me," said Roddy, raising a hand. "She said that we need-"

"Oi heard what she said, lad," said the dockmaster in a Mummerset accent thick enough to float rocks in. "Oi was a-thinkin'. It can't be 'urried, you know."

"Pardon?" Roddy remembered to scoop the potato out of his ears.

"Oi says, thinkin' can't be 'hurried! It has to be done slow-like!" said the master, loudly.

"Of course, you might strain something vital," muttered Roddy under his breath. Rita shot him a glance, trying not to laugh. The dockmaster appeared to reach a decision.

"All right, you got it. But it'll cost yer. What's yer names, so's Oi can write 'em down in me book." He pulled a tattered notebook out of his jacket and opened it apparently at random.

"Captain Rita Malone," said Rita. "_Jammy Dodger II_."

"Now there's a familiar name." The dockmaster scribbled it down and looked at Roddy as if he was some kind of specimen. "Ah! I knew I knew yer! Millicent, it's yerself, ain't it?"

"Pardon?" Roddy hesitated.

"Oi said, is that you, Millicent Bystander?" said the old master loudly. Roddy paused for a moment, and then realisation dawned.

"Yes, yes...Bystander. Millicent Bystander. That's me." He sighed and wondered if he would ever shake off that nickname. Rita clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself breaking down laughing.

"Well, it's a pleasure to 'ave the two 'eroes of the city in my dock!" The master closed the notebook. "Oi'll be 'appy to fix your tub Miss Malone and Mr Bystander. Oi'll put my best rats on the job. Here, you two, front and centre!" The last sentence was shouted to two figures stacking boxes beside the shed. They looked up and hurried over. Roddy's heart skipped a beat- they were familiar. One short and rangy, one huge and slow.

"S...Spike?" he said. "Whitey?"

"'Ullo, Millicent," said Whitey, amiably. Spike was less friendly and said nothing, but since the last time they'd met the hench-rats had tried to kill them, this was a considerable improvement.

"I don't want them working on our boat!" hissed Rita. "I wouldn't trust them an inch! They couldn't even catch you!"

Roddy glared at her and then realised that she had a point. He turned to the master. "Actually, sir, we'd rather we fix it ourselves. It's...complicated. Just put her in drydock and we'll take it from there."

The master shrugged. "Suit yourselves, of course. All right, lads, close the gates and start the pumps."

The former hench-rats moved to close the watertight gates on the Dodger's dock and attached chains to the rails from an overhead crane. These would hold the boat when the water was drained away beneath it. Whitey took his place at the pump and began working the lever up and down. Spike manned the pump as well but found himself alternately jerked into the air and dumped on the ground by his taller companion's powerful strokes. Eventually he gave up, and slunk off darkly.

"It'll take 'em a while," said the master. "You two should come back in a couple of hours."

* * *

They left the dock slowly draining and took the coins and leather into the city market. It was the usual bustle, with rats rushing to and fro on various errands. Boats nosed past each other in the green waters surrounding it. It was every bit like Roddy remembered it when he first found himself there- huge, confusing, noisy, chaotic...and yet excitingly full of possibilities. On the pavement, a chorus of slugs were busking. Children ran through the streets chasing a ball. World Cup decorations still hung from buildings and street signs- England's defeat on penalties was still a sore point for fans. Far away, the great steel of the floodgates formed an impassive wall against the main sewer channel. The nearby control box was darkened, its windows broken. It hadn't been long ago that Roddy and Rita been there as well, but under far less happy circumstances. If he closed his eyes, Roddy could still see it happening- the dreaful rush of water, the slugs screaming, the Toad yelling defiance even as he sent Rita plummeting to certain death and then the flood of liquid nitrogen that had averted disaster at the last second. It had been a close-run thing, but it had worked. The last of the frozen wave had been carved up and taken away but not before most of the citizens had tried their hands at skiing. 

Finding a replacement propeller hadn't been easy, even with the coins to trade. The leather had been easy to sell- a tailor had snapped it up quickly and for a good price- but the coins were somewhat harder. They eventually sold them in exchange for a new propeller and a piece of canvas that they planned to rig up over the stern as a deck shade. By that time it was getting late, and they hurried back to the boat. The dock was well and truly dry, but Whitery was still pumping away contentedly. He waved as they clambered down to begin the repairs.

"Funny, isn't it?" said Roddy. "How things turn out. Who would have thought those two would ever become model citizens?"

"Hardly 'model'. But it makes sense. People get by down here and I don't think either of them are really bad. Not as such." Rita found a spanner that fit and set to work, straining against the seal that had built up around the locknut. "Stupid, yes, but not bad. Pass me the oil can, would you? I need it to- ah, blast!" The spanner slipped on the stiff nut and her hand slammed into the side of the propeller recess. Cursing, she brought it into the light and looked at it.

"Rita, are you all right?" Roddy took her wrist and ran his fingers over the hand. It was bleeding somewhat more enthusiastically than either one was comfortable with so he took up a damp rag and washed it. The cut wasn't bad, but he bandaged it anyway. He looked up and his breath caught. Those striking green eyes were locked on his, and the silvery light shining into the dock made them glow softly. Rita's eyes could express more than the rest of her put together, and despite the weeks together, Roddy still felt like they could see into his soul. It had been a busy time since the World Cup and there had been a great many words left unspoken because at the time it seemed unnecessary. Now he was having doubts. It felt like he was running a race in which he hadn't heard the starter's gun. Had he assumed too much about what she thought of him? What she felt for him? Worse, had she made the same assumptions about him?

"Thank you, Roddy," said Rita gently. She flexed her fingers experimentally and gave him a smile which almost stopped his heart. "Good as new!"

He smiled weakly. She turned her attention back to the propeller. The seal had been broken, and it came off quite easily. Once it was laid on the ground, it was plain where the damage was- and entire blade had been caught in the wire and twisted out of shape. It took both of them to move the new propeller into position on the shaft, and Roddy strained to hold it by himself while Rita threaded the locknut back on. It was a perfect fit.

"Not a bad job if I say so myself," said Rita, wiping her hands.

"So can I let go now?" said Roddy, with some difficulty.

"Oh, you could have let go a while ago," Rita grinned. "Once it's on the drive shaft it's perfectly safe."

Roddy relaxed and rubbed his arms. "You couldn't have told me that earlier?"

"Probably, but you seemed to be enjoying yourself. Besides, I have to keep you where I can see you." Rita patted him playfully on the shoulder as she stepped down and went to look at the hull damage.


	2. The Great Conspiracy

The new propeller seemed to have done the trick. The _Dodger_ cut through the water flawlessly, and a slight ripple on one side indicating the new hull plating they had welded over the hole. It was dark, and night in the sewers is something that has to be seen to be believed.

"Or not seen, to be precise," said Roddy. He was sitting at the prow again, squinting into the darkness ahead for obstacles. There shouldn't be any- the boat's light gave good illumination and the slugs had come out to ignite the hurricane lamps which indicated the shipping channels. On top of this, Rita was able to smell underwater obstructions before anyone could possibly have seen them but the incident with the bottle had rattled both of them. No chances were to be taken.

They turned into a side tunnel almost overgrown with moss and sailed up to the house. It had come a long way since Roddy had first seen it, when it looked only marginally capable of staying upright at all. The piles had been properly sunk and the walls resealed, the jetty had been improved and the whole structure no longer swayed from side to side as its inhabitants moved inside.

They tied the boat securely and went to the front door. A light was on in an upstairs window, but there was no noise- strange given the size of Rita's family. After waiting without success for an answer, Roddy tried the door. It was unlocked, and swung open with an ominous creak. Beside him, Rita was nervous.

"I don't like this, Roddy," she whispered. "Something isn't right."

"I know," he said. "Your grandmother at least should be here by now. And I can't believe nobody saw us tie up." He glanced sideways. Her family was the one thing that Rita was genuinely afraid for in life, and when Rita was afraid she got angry.

"We'd better take a look inside," he said. "Come on." He stepped inside.

"Roddy, no! Wait!" She grabbed for his arm as she saw a shadow move in the darkness of the living room.

Suddenly the lights blazed on.

"Surprise!"

The family poured out of hiding. Children swirled about the room, and Roddy and Rita were hit with a whirlwind succession of hugs. Mr and Mrs Malone shooed the younger children away and welcomed the pair.

"Sorry about that, Rita, but Nick thought it'd be a laugh," said Mr Malone. He was out of the wheelchair but still had one arm in plaster. "Good to see you Roddy. You're taking care of my little girl, of course?"

"Dad!" hissed Rita, embarrassed.

"Well, I do my best," Roddy said. "I have to say, she doesn't make it easy sometimes."

Mr Malone laughed. "She takes after her mother in that respect. Could never get her to listen for very long. Good thing she's got my luck to see her through. And you, of course, son."

"Ahah, yes…well…" Roddy grinned nervously. If he had made some unwarranted assumptions about his relationship with Rita, her family had made plenty of their own. It was fair to say that neither Roddy or Rita was in a hurry for this conversation to go much further, but a polite derailment was impossible.

"Did you get that material out, dear?" Mr Malone turned to his wife. She nodded and pulled out a bundle of white cloth which had been on a table by the door. Mr Malone nodded to it.

"Silk, it is. Not easy to get that down here, I can tell you. We got married in that." Mrs Malone shook it out- the while silk unfolded down the floor. It was a dress, surprisingly well-made too, although Roddy knew at once that it was a handkerchief.

"What, both of you?" said Roddy. The Malones laughed while Rita made a valiant effort to disappear into the background.

"Bless you, son, no! What a thing to say! No, I think you'd be quite surprised," said Mr Malone.

"That's right," said Mrs Malone. "I was quite the looker at Rita's age. She takes after me, doesn't she dear? I'd even go so far as to say that this old dress might be good for her as well? Hmm?" She raised an expectant eyebrow at her eldest daughter.

"I'd be happy to sell it for you, if that's what you mean," said Rita, cutting off the conversation with the politeness of a scalpel. Efforts to restart it were foiled in any case as Grandmother Malone came down the stairs and launched herself at Roddy, who wasn't fast enough to climb out of the window.

"I'll just finish the dinner," said Mrs Malone, walking out to the kitchen.

* * *

Things had changed in the Malone household since Roddy had entered their lives. Dinner was a more stable affair, but the family would probably always stay the same- raucous, caring and as apparently uncontrollable as a cyclone. They ate, and then the younger children were sent off to bed to enable the older members to talk. Rita went with her mother to the kitchen while Roddy cleared the table.

"She seems tense these days," said Mr Malone, shaking his head. "And I'm blowed if I know why. You'd think she'd be happy. New boat, we're all right, you by her side, nothing to worry about…"

Roddy hesitated a moment before replying, not least because he suspected that at least some of those things were precisely the point.

"Well, you know her. She's never so happy as when her back's to the wall on something." He forced a laugh. Mr Malone smiled.

"That's true. I think you need some time off, Roddy. You've both been flat-chat since the Cup, and that can't have been easy. Take a holiday somewhere. Get her away from all this." He waved a hand.

"Do you think she'd listen to me?" said Roddy.

"Probably not. Nor to me. But she'll listen to her mother, who'll be having a very similar conversation…" Mr Malone winked at Roddy, who realised that they'd walked into a conspiracy. He quickly gathered up the plates and went to the kitchen.

* * *

"He seems tense these days," said Mrs Malone, shaking her head. "And I'm blowed if I know why. You'd think he'd be happy. New life, new family, you by his side…"

Rita hesitated a moment before replying, not least because she suspected that at least some of those things were precisely the point.

"Well, you know him. He's never so happy as when he can worry about something." She forced a laugh. Mrs Malone smiled.

"But he's got nothing to worry about. I think you need some time off Rita. You've both been flat-chat since the Cup, and that can't have been easy. Take a holiday somewhere. You've always wanted to, I know you have. See the world. France, Calais…"

"Calais is in France, mum," said Rita. She sighed. It was true enough that she'd always wanted to. Mrs Malone went on.

"I thought you'd have gone a couple of years ago with Sid. You remember Sid? Whatever happened to him?"

"He moved on, mum. Well…he moved up, I guess. Literally."

"The two of you got on so well. That was the last time I got out my old wedding dress, you remember. I thought I'd finally get rid of it that day."

There was a crash from near the door. The two women turned to see Roddy kneeling over the broken plate and apologising profusely.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! So sorry, I'll just get this…oh dear…"

Rita knelt to help him and passed over a fragment. Their hands touched, but Roddy didn't look up. If anything, he almost flinched. He stood up and passed Mrs Malone the intact plates.

"You're such a gentleman, Roddy," she smiled. He smiled, but Rita could tell that it was forced. He turned to go, but Mr Malone was standing in the doorway.

"So how about it, you two? Fancy a trip on the light fantastic?" he chuckled.

"Fancy!" said his wife. "I was just suggesting that to Rita."

"What a coincidence!" said Mr Malone, happily.

"Yes, what a coincidence," said Rita, sourly. "Did you two plan this?"

"Plan what, dear?" said Mrs Malone, with the practiced innocence of a conspiratorial mother.

"It's settled then? Good!" Mr Malone clapped his hands together. "I'll just hunt up some things for the boat."

* * *

"I can't believe that just happened," said Rita. The boat was moving off to the main trunk tunnel in the early morning light. It had been insisted that they leave right after breakfast.

"I can't believe that they planned it," said Roddy. "I mean, it wasn't your idea was it?"

"Mine? Of course not! Why would I come up with an idea like this? More importantly, why would I get _my parents_ to help me do it?"

"Fair point." Roddy looked at the map. "Strange how your father just happened to have a map showing the route to the Channel Outfall and that the fastest route to it just happened to be marked out in fresh red ink."

"There is very little about my father," said Rita firmly, "That is not strange. And my mother waving that dress around! Honestly!"

Roddy grimaced. "Yes, and to think that she could have got rid of it years ago," he said. Immediately he wished he hadn't- he didn't even know what Mrs Malone had been referring to, but the notion of Rita, Sid and a wedding dress sharing a sentence had driven itself deep into Roddy's heart. And one or two other places. He cursed his graphic imagination for providing a raft of other images he would have been happy to forget.

Rita looked at him curiously. That was almost a direct quote from her mother. Had he overheard? _What_ had he overheard? He'd certainly acted strangely when she helped him with the plate. She shook her head and fixed the bandage around her injured hand. What did her parents know that she didn't?

"We need to go left here," she said, turning the wheel. "You should check that everything is lashed down properly. This'll be the _Dodger_'s first time on the open seas and I don't want any more surprises."

"I checked everything before we left," Roddy protested.

"Did you check everything below decks?" said Rita.

"Well…no," admitted Roddy. She looked at him meaningfully and he threw up his hands in surrender. "All right! Yes, Captain." He disappeared. Rita watched him lower himself through the hatch to the engine room and sighed. Despite being pathologically gormless, Roddy was also the most unreadable person she had ever met. His feelings occasionally showed their colours, but the rest of the time he was…just Roddy St. James. Polite, obliging, funny and kind…but was that all he felt towards her? It certainly wasn't all she felt for him, heaven knew, but how could she show that without risking everything? She turned to the map and compass. The Channel Outfall was coming up soon.

* * *

The current was flowing faster now. Pipes were converging on the main trunk tunnel from all directions. Some came in level with the water, setting up patches of deceptively smooth surface. Others came in overhead, sending waterfalls plunging down through a mist of spray. The _Jammy Dodger II_ was soaked and so was its pilot. Rita gritted her teeth and wiped the droplets from her eyelashes with the back of her bandaged hand. The noise of the waterfalls was everywhere, battering on the eardrums.

"Rita! You should go below!" Roddy came up beside her. He was wearing a heavy waterproof coat and hat to protect himself.

"Can't leave the helm," she said.

"I can take care of it until you get back!" said Roddy. "Just go and put something heavier on. You're wet through, for heaven's sake." He shrugged off his coat and moved to drape it around Rita's shoulders. She finally relented.

"All right, but watch what you're doing! Keep it straight, right down the tunnel. Don't fight the currents, go with them."

"You mean I shouldn't try driving backwards into the wall? Thanks, that would never have occurred to me!" Roddy took the wheel and Rita went below. Roddy stared ahead, spray cascading off the roof over his head. A lot of it was also splattering off the goggles being used as a windscreen, and a lot of that scatter went back into the pilot's eyes.

"A good start to the holiday," he said to himself. "If we wanted this we could have gone to Aberdeen or Blackpool. I guess Windermere was too much to ask?" He felt the boat buck against a new cross-current, and he hauled the wheel around to compensate. He glanced at the map again. Surely they had to be close by now? He paused, and looked closer, eyes widening in horror.

_Outlet elevation- 4.5 metres. Shallow water. No Swimming Allowed._

"Um, Rita?" he called. "I think we're in for a bit of a bumpy ride…"

"It's no worse than the water treatment plant," said Rita, rejoining him. She was wearing her own coat now and had a piece of clear plastic mounted on a ring to protect her face. "And this one won't have boiling water. Or Le Frog trying to be funny."

Roddy sighed. Rita continued. "Just let me know when we're getting close, okay?"

Roddy studied the map closely. "Well, just before we reach the outlet, we should pass something called the Upper Dover Storm Drain…"

"You mean that?" Rita pointed to a tunnel mouth that rocketed past them. Roddy had just enough time to catch a crude rat-painted sign saying "White Kliffs This Way" before it was obscured by spray. He swallowed hard.

"Yes, that was probably it!"

"How far to the outfall after the Dover Drain?" asked Rita.

"Well, not far." Roddy measured the distance with his finger. "In fact, we should probably be coming up on the drop right about-"

* * *

"Well, that could have been worse," said Rita, when the noise had died away.

Roddy sat up and extracted a small fish from his ear. "Pardon?"

Rita went back to help him. The canvas shade had collapsed over him.

"I said, that could have been worse. You're all right, Roddy? No concussion?"

"Who's Roddy?" said Roddy, joking. "Yes, I'm fine. Are we there?"

"Yep. Look up." Rita pointed. Roddy looked, following her finger.

"What is it? I don't see anything. Just the sky, clouds…seagulls wheeling…oh, right." Even though he'd been in the sewers for weeks, the sky wasn't something that surprised Roddy. Rita, on the other hand, a lifelong drain-dweller, was smiling broadly as the sun shone down on them. They were already a fair distance from the shore, the Channel Outfall generating a swift current that bore them away from shore. Far away, a line of white on the horizon indicated the great White Cliffs at the Dover docks.

"We're in the English Channel!" said Rita. "And we've still got most of our supplies. Come on, let's get that shade back up."

In the event, that wasn't needed. Clouds blew in, hiding the sun long before it went down. A damp drizzle began falling, but Rita was still upbeat about being on the open sea- or at least, out of the sewers, the English Channel hardly being 'open sea'. Ahead of them was a new frontier, the Continent- the French coastline of the Pas de Calais. Already they could make out the great dockside cranes. Even though the Channel was one of the busiest waterways in the world, they saw few other ships- ferries shuttling back and forth from Dover and the occasional distant bulk of a tanker. The only ship that came really close came by just after dark. It was immense but swift, the hull slicing through the water like a knife. The grey-painted steel wall rose high above them.

Rita whistled appreciatively. "That's quite a boat, that is." She looked over to Roddy, who to her surprise was standing to attention and saluting the white flag which flew from the great ship's stern.

"What are you doing, Roddy?"

"That," said Roddy, defensively, "was one of Her Majesty's frigates. You have to pay respect to passing warships."

"Why?"

Roddy didn't have an answer to that. "You just do. Right? Besides, my family has a long history with the Royal Navy. When Crown and Country called, the St. James clan has never been found wanting." He looked proudly at the receding shape of the great frigate.

Rita scratched her head. "Wanting what?"

"What?" said Roddy, confused.

"Exactly, wanting what?"

"Wanting what what?"

They stared at each other for a while until they gave up on the impasse.

"One of my ancestors was aboard HMS _Iron Duke_ at Jutland and was in Versailles when the Armistice was signed," said Roddy, eventually. "And we're all descended from a family of rats which came aboard Nelson's flagship _Victory_ in Portsmouth. We were there at Trafalgar. The Navy is in our blood."

"Is that so?" said Rita. "So how come you can't swim?"

"I can swim," said Roddy.

"You can keep your head above water long enough for me to fish you out," said Rita. "So what happened to your ancestors?"

"Well...one of them was aboard HMS _Invincible_...another on the _Hood_...one more on the _Barham_," said Roddy. "And I had a cousin on the _Renown_."

"What happened to those ships, I mean?"

Roddy paused. "Actually, they were all destroyed by the enemy."

"So you've got quite a legend to live up to!" said Rita, laying a fond hand on his shoulder. Roddy looked at it.

"You should bandage that up again," he said.

Rita turned the hand over, eyeing the cut. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"I'll get some clean rags from below," said Roddy. He opened the hatch and went down. Rita smiled. Being on the open sea was already doing them good. But what was it that seemed to be bothering him?

* * *

_New chapters will be added as they are finished. All reviews welcome!_


	3. Calais

The drizzle fell slowly but steadily. Roddy and Rita sat in the cockpit sharing a meal and looking out at the darkening sea. The swift-moving frigate was a distant constellation of navigation lights, blinking against the northern horizon. As the sun set behind Britain, it bathed the opposite shore with a last golden glory before falling out of sight.

"Typical isn't it?" said Rita. "First holiday in goodness-knows-how-long and it has to rain."

"I really think the rain is the least of our concerns," said Roddy. "How do we get ashore in France?"

Rita pushed the maps across to him. "There's an outfall near the port of Calais. If this map is right, it will take us all the way to the Seine. And then...to Paris!" she gestured grandly and smiled. "You don't know how long I've wanted to do this, Roddy. To even be able to think about it was a dream not long ago. And there's nobody I'd rather be here with."

"Even Sid?" Roddy could have hit himself. That hadn't been what he wanted to say, even though the question had been festering ever since he overheard Mrs Malone in the kitchen. Even in the dark, he felt Rita tense.

"Sid? What does he have to do with anything?" there was a hostile note in her voice that hadn't been there before.

"I heard what your mother said. About it going so well between you two?"

"Roddy...you have no idea what you're talking about." It was a calm voice, but it was the calm before a storm. It said that there was a _possibility_ of avoiding disaster, if you changed course right now, but that it wasn't a guarantee. Roddy, deciding that he was committed now, plunged on.

"And the wedding dress that your mother was so keen to give away? Was that part of the plan with him?" He failed to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Of course, Rita must have had a life before he met her...but Sid? Sid, with his abrasive habits, his attitude? It was just so..._Sid_.

"Shouldn't you have learned not to act on what you overhear in my house?" snapped Rita. "Didn't the last time teach you anything?"

"You don't have a duck to maroon me on this time!" said Roddy.

"You think I need one to throw you overboard? If it comes to it, this time you don't have a guitar or a chorus to sing your back into my good books! For heaven's sake, Roddy, what have you been thinking? That dress was _silk_! Do you know how much it's worth? We were poor, we needed the money and Sid knew someone who could give us a good price!" She glared at him. He hesitated.

"Ah. I...must have missed that part..." he said lamely. "That must have been what she meant by getting rid of it. It just sounded like there was...more than a business deal going."

"So what if there was? Why would that matter to you?" She raised herself in her seat.

He didn't have an answer to that.

"I haven't seen Sid since you tried to pass him off as your stupid brother!" said Rita. Anger made it sound like an attack, and Roddy took it as a low blow. That had been close to being the worst moment of his life, the compounded feelings of regret, embarrassment and fear.

"Because it just does! Rita, it just did! I was stupid, I know that, but..." he trailed off.

"But what?" her tone softened as she felt his hopelessness. "Roddy?"

_It mattered to me because I love you_. That was what he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. Could he say them now after putting his foot in it so badly?

"Nothing happened between me and Sid," said Rita. "You know my parents- I turn up within a country mile of a bloke and they think something's going on. Sid was going to help us sell the silk because we needed the money. That's it. He knows people."

"Why didn't you?" asked Roddy. Rita shrugged.

"Oh, a few reasons...Mum never wanted to sell it, of course. I found one or two things that got us some time...and then this strange toff dropped into my life and changed everything and we didn't have to worry any longer." She gave him a small smile. "Forget Sid, forget what my silly mother said. What matters is that you and I are going to France."

Roddy dared to look at her, and smiled nervously. "I'm so sorry. I'm...an idiot. I overreacted."

"If I didn't know better," said Rita, jokingly, "I'd say you were jealous."

Roddy decided that there wasn't any point in denying that charge. "Yes," he said simply.

Rita searched his face, but Roddy was inscrutable at the best of times and the night wasn't making it any easier. Why on Earth would he have been jealous? Why indeed, unless...

"Tell me about your ancestor," she said, trying to avoid thinking about it. "The one who fought at Jutland and Versailles."

Roddy leaned back in his chair. "Commander August St. James, RNVR was his name."

"Royal Navy Volunteer Reserve?"

"Royal Navy Vermin Recruit," corrected Roddy. "Although I don't like the word 'vermin'. It's undignified. Anyway, he was aboard the battleship _Iron Duke_, which was Admiral Jellicoe's flagship. Imagine it, Rita...the fate of the world hung in the balance for one afternoon. Our Grand Fleet against the High Seas Fleet...the most powerful ships ever built clashing in a blaze of fire...like rival gods trading thunderbolts. There was a lot of argument as to who won, of course, although for record, we did. Anyway, after the battle, Jellicoe became First Sea Lord and went to London. August went with him. He was there at Versailles when they signed the Armistice. He never came back, come to think of it...never left France." He frowned. "Not sure why. I guess he's still there, but he must be long dead by now."

"So he was the only one of your seafaring ancestors who didn't have their ship blown up beneath them?" said Rita. "That's all right. I was beginning to wonder whether having a member of your family aboard was such a good idea since you seem to be so good at attracting torpedoes."

Roddy laughed. "We're just lucky, I guess."

Rita yawned. "Well, maybe we'll find this August. You never know. Your family seems to live longer on land."

"Maybe I should get off this tub, then," joked Roddy. She shook her head.

"No, like I said. I need you where I can keep an eye on you. Do you want first watch or shall I take it?"

"I'll take it," said Roddy. "You'll need your sleep. It might be hard finding the Calais drain tomorrow. Besides, you look beat. Are you sure you're not coming down with something?"

"I'm fine. Just a little tired." Rita stood up and stretched. "Good night, Roddy."

"Good night, Rita." She left the cockpit to prepare her bed under the canvas shade. Roddy watched her go. "And Rita?"

She paused and turned. "Hmm?"

"I truly am sorry, Rita. Honestly. I...don't know why I said those things."

"It's all right, Roddy. Don't worry about it." She smiled and went to bed. Roddy turned back to the maps. That hadn't been entirely accurate, of course- he was painfully aware of why he'd said it. He sighed and looked ahead to the flickering lights of France.

* * *

Rita woke up. She was good at waking when she wanted to, regardless of whether there was a clock nearby. It was still dark, but it was her turn on watch. She roused herself and splashed some water on her face, enjoying the novelty of the salty taste, and went to the cockpit. Roddy was still there, curled up in his seat and fast asleep. She didn't have the heart to wake him so she collected her blanket and draped it over him gently before taking her place in the pilot's seat. What had all that been about? It wasn't like Roddy to be that irrational. Silly, yes, but irrational? Never. 

Well...hardly ever. Certainly not like that. For a moment his emotions had clearly got the better of his natural reserve, but they had disappeared again before she could be sure what was motivating them. Jealously? Surely not, not unless he felt something for her that he hadn't mentioned. Rita glanced over at Roddy's motionless form and sighed quietly. If only that were true! But how did you even broach the topic with someone like Roddy? That natural reserve could become a steel barrier in a heartbeat if he felt forced onto the defensive.

Ah, well. That was a problem for the future. Rita pulled the sheaf of maps over and began studying them intently.

* * *

It was an immense ship. It wasn't quite as long as the frigate, but the warship had been built like a greyhound- sleek, smooth and streamlined. This one, resplendent in the red, white and blue of the cross-Channel ferry lines, was built like a barn. Crossing its wake had been the hardest part, the waves generated by the ship's passing had been taller than the _Jammy Dodger II_'s funnel and there had been one or two hairy moments when things broke loose on the deck and threatened to crash overboard. Rita stood poised at the controls. 

"The outfall is on the end of the breakwater," said Roddy. He pointed to it- a long, low concrete pier curling out from the shore to shelter the port within.

"It'll be a hard starboard turn, but we can do it," said Rita. She watched the speed carefully. Yes, they could do it, provided that there wasn't something coming the other way. The ferry began passing through the breakwater mouth slowly. Rita edged the _Jammy Dodger_ towards the right, waiting for the moment. She could see it now- a dark hole at the bottom of the sheer concrete wall. Then she grimaced- it was low, perhaps too low. The hole was already half-submerged, and the tide was coming in behind them. Not to mention the ferry's wake. Perhaps this would be closer than she thought.

"Oh dear," said Roddy, who had noticed it too. "Do you think we should try this? I mean, we could just pull up and wait for low tide..."

Rita shook her head. "No, this should work. Piece of cake. Do me a favour and check that the lifejackets are still there?"

Roddy stared, but did so. The lifejackets were hastily improvised, just foam peanuts held together with string. They were packed roughly into a trunk against the port rail. "They're here all right. But are you sure we won't need them."

"No," said Rita. "Now keep quiet. This is going to be tricky..." she concentrated, tongue poking slightly out of her mouth as she gauged time, speed and distance. Timing would be everything. Roddy shivered and dug his fingers into one of the foam peanuts nervously. It would be profoundly unfair to die now, after everything they'd been through just getting here. The Channel Outfall now looked comparatively easy.

"Hold on, Roddy!" shouted Rita, gunning the engines. Roddy did, but onto the peanut which crumbled beneath his frantic grip. The sudden acceleration pitched him into the lifejacket trunk but at least it was a soft landing.

Rita gritted her teeth as the boat surged forward. The outlet beckoned, the water level rising, rising...and then falling. They shot through the mouth with inches to spare. She flicked on the lights and blinked ferociously to get her night vision back. They were in a sheer-sided concrete tunnel, fighting against the flow of stormwater heading towards the sea. Behind them the ferry's wake surged up the tunnel, tipping the stern higher than the bows, which dug into the fast-flowing water. The funnel scraped along the tunnel roof, scattering sparks and concrete chips across the deck. For a moment there was a struggle between the conflicting surges of water over possession of the boat, and then the tunnel opened up. The wave dispersed harmlessly and the current lessened. She cut back the throttle, heaved a sigh of relief and drew her bandaged hand across her forehead.

"We've done it Roddy! We're safe! Roddy?" She turned around. There was a banging sound coming from the lifejacket trunk. She opened it and nearly got a foot in the face from Roddy, who had been trying to kick the lid open.

"Whoops! Sorry about that!" he grinned sheepishly. "Are we dead yet?"

"No. We're fine. Welcome to France." She offered an arm to help him out of the trunk. "Now come on, First Mate. I need a navigator."

Roddy took his place next to her in the cockpit and looked at the maps. It seemed fairly straightforward- the breakwater sewer curled back into Calais township, from where it was a simple exercise in drain-hopping to reach the main trunk tunnel to the Seine. He looked up at the concrete walls that rose alongside them. They tapered in towards the bottom, an old engineering trick which made the water flow faster and thus made the tunnel self-cleaning. The same principle was used in the London sewers he had come to call home, but the brutal utilitarian concrete made him feel uneasy. They passed a side-tunnel, a sure sign that they had reached the land. A sign pointed down it, reading _Dunquerque_ and giving a distance in kilometres. Ahead of them, a checkpoint had been set up, a sign reading QUARANTINE hung by one corner. There was someone there- a French rat in gendarme uniform, but he was fast asleep at a desk and didn't even bat an eyelid as the _Jammy Dodger II_ motored past. A little way beyond them, two rats were standing behind enormous backpacks, attempting to thumb a lift. Rita let the boat drift in towards them.

"Where are you heading?" she called.

"Calais, mate," said one of the hitchhikers in an Australian accent, pronouncing every letter in the name. "Can we bludge a ride off you?"

"Come aboard," said Roddy. "We'll drop you off in the town."

They clambered on. "You two are Poms then?"

"Poms? Oh...yes. English." Roddy nodded. "And you're Australian?"

"From Wooloomoloo, mate. I'm Bruce, and this is Bruce." He indicated his companion, who gave Roddy a companionable nod.

"Roddy St. James," said Roddy, narrowly avoiding adding 'of Kensington'. "And our pilot today is Rita."

"Pleased to meet you," said Rita waving. "So you're both called Bruce? Doesn't that get a little confusing?"

"Confusing? Nah, mate, that makes it easier to remember. Doesn't it, Bruce?" said Bruce.

"You're not wrong, Bruce," said the other Bruce. Roddy glanced from one to the other and realised that they looked more or less alike as well as sounding identical. He gave up.

"You're here on holiday, then?" he said.

"That's right, Rod," said one of the Bruces. "Took us about a month to get here. Working here and there to pay for the next leg of the trip. There used to be three of us, but our other mate had to stay behind in Tel Aviv 'cause he was broke."

"What was his name?" asked Roddy, before he could stop himself.

"Bruce, mate, what do you reckon?" said the second Bruce, as if stating a well-known fact like 'the sky is blue'.

What about you two?" The first Bruce leaned closer to Roddy and stage-whispered. "You here on your honeymoon, mate? I can't say I blame you!"

"Ahaha," Roddy laughed nervously, hoping that Rita hadn't heard that. "Not exactly. I mean, not even remotely," he hastily added as he saw Rita's ears prick up. "I mean, no."

"Pity." Bruce scratched his head. "We wouldn't want to intrude or nothing."

"Not out to crash anyone's party," confirmed Bruce Number Two, nodding sagely.

"That's right, Bruce," said Bruce Number One. "Anyway, we're much obliged to you for the lift."

"Don't worry about it," Rita came down from the controls to join them. "It's not out of our way. Is there anything you guys need?"

The lead Bruce scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well...a place to dry off some of our gear'd be tops. You know how it is. Can't keep anything dry."

"No problem," said Rita. "Roddy, take them below. They can pin their things out on the engine vents."

The Bruces turned out to have a sense of hygiene roughly equivalent to Sid's, but they had the decency to apologise for it even as the engine space was rendered uninhabitable by the fumes evaporating from their socks and clothing.

"Sorry mate," said Bruce the First. "Long time on the road. Long time between washes." He looked over to where his companion was hooking up a string of socks above the engine's condenser.

"Not a problem," said Roddy, who was trying to avoid breathing through his nose, or possibly at all.

"You two are good sorts," went on Bruce. "Giving us a lift and all this. You're a real gent, Bruce."

"Uh, you mean Roddy," said Roddy.

"'Course I do, Bruce," said Bruce. "I mean Roddy. Sorry. Force of habit. That your suit?"

Roddy turned and saw his dinner suit hanging in the corner. It had been repaired since the battering it took on the way to the sewer, but it was never going to be in mint condition again. "Oh, yes."

"Looks like you might have something special in mind with your friend upstairs." Bruce winked disconcertingly. "Don't worry, mate. We'll not tell."

"Tell her what?" said Roddy. "She knows I have the suit on board."

"Sure," said the other Bruce. "But did _you _know about this?" He opened a box and held up a tightly-wrapped bundle of white silk. Roddy stared at it dumbly.

"I think we can take that face as a 'no', Bruce," said Bruce. "Now put that back. It isn't yours and you might damage it. It's bad enough we're intruding on these two and turning their boat into a chemical weapons lab, I can't have you ruining their special day."

"There's really no 'special day'," said Roddy, grinning desperately.

"'Course not, mate. No worries." Bruce clapped him on the shoulder. "Now let's get up top again. It's getting a bit festive down here."

* * *

The two Bruces sat in the stern, enjoying not having to carry their heavy packs. Roddy sat with them. 

"You got to come up with a way we can pay you back," said Bruce. "Fair's fair."

"No, no, it's no problem. Like we said, we're going your way," said Roddy, holding up his hands.

Bruce shook his head. "Don't come the raw prawn, mate. This is how it goes. _Quid pro quo_. That means you do things for people who do things for you and we always clear our debts. Hitchhiker's code."

Roddy blinked, somewhat surprised that the Australian knew what 'quid pro quo' meant. Before he could reply, Rita called his name from the cockpit. Excusing himself to the Bruces, Roddy joined her.

"We've got a problem with the engine," she said.

"You're not kidding," said Roddy. "Have you been down there since they hung out their things? It's like Dresden."

Rita stared at him until she figured out what he was talking about.

"No, no...it's the fuel. Crossing the channel, fighting the currents...it's cost us more than I thought." She tapped the gauge, where the needle had already dropped into the red zone.

"We could just use their socks. They have to be combustible." Rita flicked him an irritated look.

"Could you take this seriously for a moment? We've got less than a day left. If we don't tank up by then, we'll be in real strife. Can you find anywhere to get some?"

Roddy looked at the map. "If you take the next left, that'll bring us under the Calais 2 Fuel Reserve," he said. "It must be for the ferries. Can the _Dodger_ run on that?"

"The _Dodger_ can run on anything," said Rita, confidently. "Next left, was it? Good." She turned the wheel before Roddy could ask her what the wedding dress was doing on board and called out to the Australians. "Sorry about this, chaps, but we've got a technical hitch. We're going to need to stop off to refuel."

The Bruces stood up. "We can help you there. We know how to siphon, right Bruce?"

"No worries, Bruce. Get the tube out." Bruce took a length of rubber hose out of his pack and waved it, grinning. "Looks like we might be able to pay you back after all!"

* * *

The tunnels changed. The concrete gave way to steel, smooth and cold. The water was dirty, and every inch of it swirled with a rainbow of colours. Had Roddy's sense of smell recovered from the Bruces' wet clothing, he would have been able to smell the oil in the air. Rita could, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. A film of the stuff clung to everything, oozing down the walls. The Bruces stood on either side of the boat, looking for a way in. Far above their heads was well over ten thousand tons of fuel-oil in underground tanks. But how could they get at it without risking everything? 

"Over here!" shouted Bruce Two. Roddy hurried over. A pipe broke the surface on that side of the boat. It was lined with valves. Rita cut the engines and lashed the boat to the pipe.

"All right, let's get to it." The Bruce prepared to leap onto the pipe, but Roddy held him back. Rita brought the boat's mechanical arm over and each of them tied themselves to it. The slippery oil was sure to be treacherous, and the consequences of falling into this polluted water didn't bear thinking of. The arm rose slowly, and Roddy and the two Bruces were placed on the pipe.

"Steady, mate," said Bruce One to himself. He stood up to test his grip. Roddy straightened hesitantly as well. Bruce Two was less fortunate and his feet flew from under him. The jerk on the arm threw Roddy off balance as well and he was saved only by his harness. Bruce One wasn't so lucky and his feet decided to take high-speed trips to opposite sides of the pipe. Roddy winced sympathetically.

"Are you all right?"

Bruce blinked once or twice and said that he was, no worries, but might have to stay still for a moment or two,

They scrambled back onto the pipe. Number One Bruce found a likely-looking valve and began straining at it. Roddy went to help him and between them they forced it open. They peered into the pipe and felt their eyes watering from the fumes boiling off the fuel within.

"Yeah, this'll do nicely." Bruce inserted one end of the tube and gave the other end to Bruce Two to take back to the _Dodger_ where Rita had opened the tank. He winked at Rita before sucking hard on the tube and plunging it in. For a moment, nothing happened...and then Roddy saw the fuel making its way slowly through the tube. It was actually working. Bruce wiped his hands on his shorts with satisfaction.

"Works every time, mate. You gotta be sure to stop sucking before you get a mouthful, of course."

"Yes, I see. It's quite brilliant." Roddy watched with genuine appreciation.

"It's a bit slow, isn't it?" called Rita from the boat.

"It's the best we can do," said Roddy. "Besides what do we have to do that's so important?" He looked back to the valve in time to see Bruce grinning conspiratorially.

"My lips," he said, tapping his nose cheerfully. "Are sealed."

Roddy shook his head, laughing to himself.

"No worries," he said. "Mate."

* * *

_Writer's Note: The names for the Bruces is, of course, a take from the Monty Python sketch set in the Faculty of Philosophy at the University of Wooloomoloo._


	4. The Seine and the City

"They were a funny pair," said Rita.

The tanks were now brimming with high-grade fuel oil and the engines purred appreciatively. They had dropped the Bruces in the middle of Calais just as promised before heading out and joining the main trunk tunnel from Le Havre. It was already late afternoon.

"Memorable, certainly," said Roddy. "They reminded me of something, actually."

"Oh, yes?"

"Precisely why it is that we started their country on the other side of the planet."

Rita flicked him. "No call for that! They did save us, you know. We probably couldn't have got the tanks refilled without them."

Roddy grinned and held up his hands to show that he was joking. Rita sighed with mock frustration.

"I really should throw you overboard. Just keep an eye out for any U-boats will you?"

"Yes, Captain!" Roddy saluted. Ahead of them, the brickwork of the tunnel seemed to go on forever. The flow was fast and smooth and progress was good. Roddy was optimistic that they might reach the lower Seine by nightfall, but the detour to refuel had taken them off the plotted course and it had taken some inspired guesswork to find the Le Havre tunnel at all. Rita left him and disappeared down below deck to prepare a meal. She was gone only a few moments before she stuck her head back out again, a look of suspicion on her features.

"Roddy? Have you been down here since Bruce and Bruce left?"

"No, I haven't been down there since they hung their things out. I wanted to wait for the UN inspectors to report back. Why do you ask?"

He turned to look at her. She made no reply, but held up a coathanger. On it was Roddy's dinner suit, but someone had tied the white dress to it as well and hung a note on it saying "GOOD LUCK MATES". Roddy swallowed hard.

"Well, I guess we're lucky they didn't tie tin cans to the back of the boat with a 'Just Married' sign," he said eventually.

"Did you put them up to this?" demanded Rita.

"Me? Why would I ask Bruce to do that? Either Bruce?"

"Not them, Roddy! My parents! Did you know they'd put that dress on board?"

"No. I didn't know it was here until one of the Bruces showed it to me."

"And you didn't think to ask me about it?"

"Well, I would have! But then there was that fuel business and I didn't think to ask you in case I shouldn't." He waved his hands. Rita's face was a picture of irritation, but it wasn't directed at him.

"I'm going to kill them, Roddy. We're going to get back from this and then I'm going to kill them. I can't believe this! The only thing they didn't do was give us a ring to go with it!" She threw the clothes onto her bed. As she did so, something small and golden slipped out of the inner pocket of Roddy's jacket. It made a sharp little ping as it hit the deck, bounced once and rolled. Both of them watched it proceed slowly along until it tipped over. For a while there was silence. Then Roddy caught Rita's eye, and they both broke down laughing.

"They're persistent, you have to admire them!" said Roddy.

"They're unbelievable! I wonder what else they put aboard without telling us." Rita shook her head, still chucking, and went below. Roddy smiled. The note was definitely down to one of the Bruces. But the ring? That could only have been the Malones. He looked up and the smile broadened. There was a light at the end of the tunnel.

* * *

Somewhere just outside Paris, where the city meets the country, there was a corner of the Seine where long grasses grow in the water. A passer-by would have been surprised to hear voices coming from the grass, but probably not as surprised as they would have been at the boat moored there. 

Rita was lying on her bed, reading by the light of a candle stuck in the middle of the deck. She had a tattered phrase book open, and was reading it aloud to Roddy, who was cleaning the dishes in a cup filled with the Seine's fresh water.

"_Bonjour madame et monsieur! Je'mapelle Rita. Parlez tu English_?"

"It's pronounced 'anglais', actually," said Roddy helpfully. "And it's not _tu_ unless you know the person. If it's a stranger you say _vous_."

"_Pardonnez moi, mon fromage? Pourquoi_?"

Roddy laughed. "Okay, well you say _vous_ because it's the formal address. And you just called me your cheese, so I think we'll leave the linguistics to me for now."

"Ah, _j'accuse c'est la vie mon amis! Tre bien passant sans escargot_." Rita sat up and pointed a triumphant finger at him.

"And that made no earthly sense whatsoever, with or without snails. Can we just conclude that you don't speak a word of French, please?"

He put the dishes aside to dry and went to lie down on his own bed, on the opposite side of the deck. Rita looked at the book for a moment and then closed it with a snap.

"Fair point," she said.

"I knew you'd see things my way." Roddy stretched out gratefully, resting the back of his head on his hands. "You know, I think it's been worth coming here."

Rita nodded. "Worth it? I'll say. Just look at that. Aren't they amazing?" She pointed to the sky.

Roddy looked up. Despite the nearby light of the candle, the first stars were speckling the sky, shining silver against the velvet black. He reminded himself that Rita had been born and lived underground most of her life.

"You ain't seen nothing yet," he said softly, and blew out the candle.

With its light gone, the sky seemed to light up. From horizon to horizon, perfectly cloudless unlike the night on the Channel. A great band of silver dust stretched overhead, and every star in the galaxy seemed to shine down on them. Roddy heard Rita catch her breath.

"It's...so beautiful..." she whispered. "I never knew...never guessed it could look like that. I've only ever seen stars through sewer grates really, and then always in London where the lights are always on. This is...incredible." She trailed off. Roddy looked across the dark deck, his heart racing with pride.

"I'm glad they haven't disappointed," he said.

"Disappointed? Roddy, how could they? They're the most beautiful things I've ever seen! Shining like jewels...they make my old ruby seem worthless." Her voice was warm with joy.

"It was worthless, remember?" Roddy pointed out.

"Well, yes," said Rita. "But at the time it was the most precious thing to me."

"I know, you almost killed me for showing that it was a fake," said Roddy fondly.

Rita laughed. "Yes...yes I did. But a lot of things have changed since then."

Roddy said nothing. They certainly had.

"I'm so sorry about last night," he said. "The business with Sid. I had no right to ask. I just..."

"Got jealous? So you said." Rita smiled in the darkness. "And I've already told you not to worry about it."

"You forgive me?" said Roddy hopefully. Rita laughed.

"Yes! Yes, I forgive you."

"I just like to be clear about things," said Roddy.

Rita cocked an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"I try," he said. "But sometimes I say things I don't feel. Or feel things I don't say..."

"I think the stars look better from this side of the boat." Rita cut him off. She barely spoke above a whisper, but the words silenced Roddy in an instant. He stared at the sky for a moment, trying to work out where this was going.

"Do...do they?" he stammered.

"I think so. You'd better come and see." Rita moved over. Roddy, trying not to panic, gathered his blanket and moved next to her. She shifted again, resting her head on his shoulder, and gave what might have been a sigh of contentment.

He looked up at the celestial display again.

"I think you could be right," Roddy murmured. He put an arm around her.

"I think you could be right..."

* * *

The sun crept over the horizon and shone down on the _Jammy Dodger II_ and its crew. Roddy blinked myopically and coughed once or twice. Rita lay with her back to him, her red ponytail straying across his face. He blinked again and put a hand on her shoulder. 

"Rita? It's time to wake up." He stopped and realised something- she was shivering. It hadn't been a warm night, but it hadn't been cold either.

Besides, physical weakness wasn't something Rita normally showed.

"Are you feeling all right?"

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Good morning, Roddy. Yes, I'm...I'll be fine."

"I'm not asking if you will be fine, I'm asking if you are now." She was definitely shivering, although she was bringing it under control.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just a little cold."

Roddy stood up and put a hand to her forehead. "Cold? You're practically combusting!"

She pushed his hand away distractedly. "I'm fine, Roddy. Come on. We've got a long way to go today." Rita gave him a smile which entirely failed to convince him of anything.

"Rita-"

"Look, I must have eaten something bad. I'll be fine in a day or two."

She made her way to the bows and began hauling in the mooring lines. Roddy joined her.

"Where's the bandage?" he asked.

"What?"

"On your hand. The bandage. Where is it?"

Rita looked at her injured hand. "Oh...I guess it must have come off yesterday. It's much better now anyway." She opened and closed her fist to prove it. Roddy wasn't fooled. The edges of the wound were almost, but not completely, sealed. But they were red and inflamed- a surefire sign of infection.

"Shouldn't you wash it or something? Get a new bandage on it and get some rest. I should be able to avoid running into anything." He coiled the ropes and stowed them away. Rita shook her head and moved behind the controls.

"Thank you, Roddy, but I'll survive. I've had worse."

She fired up the engines and steered carefully out of the grass and back onto the open river. The Seine is a slow-flowing waterway, and the _Jammy Dodger II_ made good headway towards the city. Paris filled the horizon, white buildings shining gold in the morning light.

As they approached the city, traffic began increasing and they were forced more than once to avoid a collision. Roddy, muttering darkly about French drivers, consulted their map of Paris.

"We've got to get off the river," said Rita. "We'll be spotted for sure. Or sunk by some crazy lunatic!'" she added, shouting the epithet at a passing boat crewed by a trio of mice. She steadied herself on the wheel and shook her head as if trying to clear it.

Roddy thumped the map in frustration. "This city has the structure of a bowl of spaghetti! And this map barely shows the underground structures. We'd be navigating blind."

"Works for me," said Rita. "Just get us off the main drag before you get us torpedoed."

"Can you stop making jokes about my illustrious ancestry?" Roddy grinned.

"Oh, I'm afraid I can't, _mon amis_. And you see, my French has come a long way as well!" She spotted a drain mouth and steered for it.

The change was dramatic. Paris is a bright city, and leaving the morning sun and white buildings for the gloom of its sewers left Rita and Roddy blind for a few seconds. After their eyes adjusted, they found themselves in a wide, low-roofed boulevard. Rat houseboats were tied up alongside.

Someone, somewhere, was frying garlic and playing an accordion, possibly simultaneously. It seemed to go on more or less forever, lit by shafts of light coming through grates in the street above.

"Wow," said Rita, taking it all in. "I didn't know there was anything like this here."

They turned a corner and the number of people increased significantly. Rats hurried to and fro on errands, many of them wearing blue-and-white striped shirts in Gallic fashion.

"Welcome to Paris," murmured Roddy, equally impressed. Rita took his hand.

He looked down, surprised, and then up again. Her green eyes met his, but he knew something was awry. The touch of her hand was cold and clammy, and those eyes had lost much of their usual fire. He forced a smile.

* * *

Underground, Paris made no more sense than up top. They got lost twice and only realised it when Roddy recognised one of the houseboats the second time they passed it. Eventually they were forced to stop and ask for directions. Rita's French might have improved, but it had improved from non-existent to merely terrible, and so she stood back, resting against the rail while Roddy did the talking. He waved goodbye to the Parisian who they had been talking to and turned back. 

"Well, that didn't really help. But apparently if we follow this map, we'll get to the centre of the city." He looked down critically. The 'map' had been hastily sketched on a napkin. "Or we might end up in Lille. It's hard to tell."

Rita pushed herself up. "Well, we'd better get going. Come on."

Following what passed for the map, they made their way through the tunnels.

Roddy looked up at a sign reading 'Arc d'Triumphe'. Now they were really in Paris! He looked ahead, and panicked. The tunnel opened out into a huge brickwork cavern. At least twelve other tunnels converged on it, and the circle was a madhouse, swarming with drain-boats. Collision after collision was narrowly avoided as boats entering the circle simply pulled straight in.

"How do you run a city like this?" Roddy demanded. Rita made no reply, and opened up the throttle. The Dodger burst into the circle and slewed around, throwing a sheet of water behind it. The water descended and drenched a dozen Parisian boats, which didn't seem to affect their driving but earned them a volley of choice French phrases which had not been in Rita's book. Roddy hung on for dear life, peering through his fingers as they tore through the mass of water vehicles.

"Look out!" A small boat pulled out ahead of them. Rita yelled and hit the hydrofoil controls. The skis unfolded from the hull, lifting the Jammy

Dodger II into the air, clear of the small boat but still close enough to knock off the driver's beret. The skis retracted and they slammed down, throwing Roddy off his feet.

"Try to go left! Try to go left!" he shouted. Rita hauled the wheel around and they cut across the traffic into a wide street. Suddenly everything was quiet. Wide pedestrian footpaths lined the street, which appeared to consist entirely of shops. Garden beds marked the demarcation between waterway and walkway. The only other boats here were sleek machines, expensive and stylish, and they cruised up and down in an unhurried fashion.

"I think...I think this is the Champs Elysees," said Roddy, gathering himself. Rita stared at the well-dressed rats that surrounded them.

"I feel a bit intimidated," she said. "These people are posh. They're more posh than I thought even you were."

"I never thought I be glad to be outclassed," he replied.

The Dodger was getting some strange looks. Roddy looked around. There was nowhere to pull in.

"I think we need to keep going," he said. "There's bound to be a side tunnel somewhere."

* * *

They found one, and pulled in next to the foundations of a building which was clearly something impressive. A plaque on the side read Hotel d'Invalides. "Hotel? Can we afford to stay here?" Rita looked at it and swayed slightly. Roddy took her arm to steady her and tried to keep the worry out of his voice. 

"Actually it means something closer to 'hospital'," he said. "It was built for injured soldiers. Napoleon is buried here."

"Well, he's in for a shock!" Rita giggled. "Because the St. James clan has returned to finish the job! Trafalgar, here we come!" She mimed putting a telescope to her eye.

Roddy stared. "That's in Spain. Rita, are you sure you're all right?

You're acting weird. I mean, weirder than usual."

She looked at him, clearly battling to keep her eyes focused.

"You might have been right...I don't feel...it's just the excitement. That traffic, and being here at all..." She touched her head, overbalanced and nearly fell backwards into the water. Roddy lunged and caught her. Something was definitely seriously wrong. Rita had never lost her balance before, not that badly. She looked up confused as he put his arms around her shoulders.

"I think...I need to sit down..."

He helped her down, fear written all over his face. He should have checked her injury! He should have insisted she take care of it! How could he have been so unobservant?

"Stay here," he said. "I'm going to get help." He looked around and fixed on the door next to the plaque, which bore a red cross drawn in crayon. Well, the blasted place could live up to its name at last!

"As...if...I'm...going...anywhere..." Rita gave him a defiant smile, and closed her eyes.

* * *

"I cannot lie to you, Monsieur St. James," said the nurse. She was an elegant rat, taller than Roddy- from what he had seen, they were either much taller or much shorter, as if there were only two kinds available. Roddy's French wasn't up to medical discussion, but her English was impeccable and faintly accented. 

"Is it serious?" he said, dreading the answer. They were standing by Rita's bedside. The Hotel d'Invalides was indeed doing its job. The doctor, an elderly rat named Jean-Jaques, took off his glasses.

"It is not life-threatening," he said. "Well, not probably. But she is- how would you say it?- very much under the wind. Under the rain. Weather, under the weather, oui."

"So she'll be fine?" said Roddy, almost daring to hope. Jean-Jaques waggled a hand and gave one of those French shrugs, which involve the entire upper body and most of the face while the head stays bizarrely stationary.

"For a given value of 'fine'. If she is to recover fully, she will need medicine. It is infection, what you would call blood poisoning or septicaemia. A relatively mild case but one which if left untreated could turn nasty."

"There's a cure though, isn't there?" Roddy glanced at Rita's immobile form on the bed.

Jean-Jaques exchanged looks with the nurse. "Yes, yes...but not one which you would find...tasty? No, excuse me, I mean palatable."

Roddy stared. "What is it?"

The doctor fidgeted. "I do not like to bear bad news but I fear I must. If all else fails...the ultimate cure is amputation. Of the wounded part."

The word seared itself across Roddy's mind. His resolve stiffened.

"What can I do?" he said.

"You are not a doctor," said the nurse.

"You said she needed medicine! What can I do?" He stepped towards them.

The doctor raised a placating hand.

"Nothing yet, Mr St. James, but perhaps we shall call on you soon. In the meantime, there is little for you to do. Come, let me take you on a tour. Did you not notice the name of this hospital?"

Roddy hadn't. He'd had other things on his mind.

"It is the St. James Hospital, Mr St. James. Quite the coincidence, yes? I thought I had seen you somewhere before but now I am sure I know where. Come."

He beckoned. Roddy took a last look at Rita, and followed. The corridor outside was smooth-walled and well-tended. Indoor plants- plastic leaves- had been installed in upturned thimbles and placed either side of the doors. Blue-gowned nurses and white-coated doctors moved quietly but efficiently.

"Although the building above us was built centuries ago," said Jean-Jaques, "We are a comparatively new group. We were founded in 1918- the year of the Armistice, yes?- by two benefactors who we honour even today." He opened a door into the main hall. "Look at the picture at the far end, Mr St. James. Recognise anyone? Looks a bit like you, oui?"

Roddy peered at the picture- a black-and-white photo mounted in a frame made of gold pipecleaners.

"I don't believe it..." he said.

The doctor beamed.

"I know. The likeness, it is uncanny."

There were two figures in the photo. One of them was a frog, squat but of noble bearing and wearing a heavily-decorated French Navy uniform. The frog's features were strangely familiar, but it was the other figure that caught Roddy's attention. The other figure was Roddy St. James. Or rather, an older version of him. The figure was essentially the same, the face almost identical aside from the age difference. Even the hair was similar although Roddy's was brown and the figure's was white. The rat was wearing a Royal Navy dress uniform complete with sabre. Along with the frog, he was holding a small open box in which lay another medal- that of the Legion of Honour.

"The highest award the Republic can offer," said the doctor, pointing it out. "To think you had such illustrious forebears, eh? And to think how honoured I am. To be in this hospital with the descendant of August St. James himself!"

Roddy was amazed. So that's what happened to his ancestor! That really was quite a legacy, much better than being repeatedly sunk. Glass cabinets set either side of the photo held the uniforms of the two, complete with medals and braid. But he had come here for a reason, and gratified as he was by this history lesson, that reason remained in bed not far away.

"I'm pleased to be here, doctor, but I really must ask. Can I do anything to help?"

Jean-Jaques sat heavily. "The medicine we need, we do not have. I am sorry, but it is up to you to get it. We cannot leave the building."

Roddy nodded. "Okay, so I have to get the medicine. What do you need?"

"It is a compound similar to penicillin. The humans take it in tablets. We need a tablet so we can extract it. There is a...what do you say, apothecary? Pharmacist? Chemist? A shop of medicines not far from here. That is where you should go. But you will need help."

Roddy paused. He had already been leaving. "Help from who?"

Jean-Jaques looked uncomfortable. "A volunteer came forward to offer assistance when he heard of your plight."

"How could anyone know we were here?" said Roddy.

A new voice answered from behind him. It was familiar, worryingly familiar.

"Well," said Le Frog. "That is the sixty-thousand franc question is it not, my old English friend?"


	5. Break and Enter

Roddy was pacing the room like a caged tiger and talking, to all intents and purposes, to himself.

"Why is he here? Why is he helping? Is he helping? I don't know! I just…don't know."

He stopped moving for a moment, and dragged the chair over. Rita's clothes had been folded and stacked by the tall nurse, who had then left them on the chair. Roddy picked up the small pile and placed it on the end of the bed. He sat down, a look of defeat on his face, and took Rita's left hand in his. Her fur was damp with sweat and she had long since stopped moving although occasionally an eyelid would twitch, indicating a deep, fevered sleep. Beneath the crisp, white sheet, her chest barely rose and fell with her shallow breathing. If Roddy had taken her hand in search of comfort, he didn't find any. His face fell as he looked at her.

"I'm sorry about this, Rita. I really am. I don't even know if you can hear me, and you certainly can't respond if you do. Or maybe you can but are just pretending to ignore me. But I think we both know you aren't that smart." He smiled at her unseeing features and sagged visibly.

"So Le Frog said he would help. Goodness knows I could do with it, but why does it have to be him? I'd rather have one of the Bruces with me on this than that villain. But I guess I don't have much choice do I? Because you're here, like this, and there's nobody else."

Roddy stroked her hand absent-mindedly.

"Oh, I can hear it now. Roddy St. James, hero of the World Cup? Scared? But I'm no hero. I never was. Do you think I could have done that without you? Does anyone? I'm all alone, Rita. And I am scared. For both of us. They can amputate my head before I'll let them cut off your hand, but what happens when I go out there with Le Frog?"

He paused.

"You know what else is worrying me? That I've been talking to you for ten minutes and there's absolutely no way you can hear me and I'm going to leave you in a minute more and you probably won't realise that I've even been here." He looked at her face. There was no pain evident there. She twitched again, and was it Roddy's imagination or did an eye half-open?

_Rita struggled through the mists. The fever was like cotton wool, surrounding her, slowing her thoughts. Nothing seemed to work. Her eyes wouldn't focus and she screamed at them silently in frustration. Was that Roddy by her bedside? What was he saying? She tried to speak, but it was too late. There was a feeling of rushing wind in her hair, a sensation of falling backwards, and then the darkness took her away again._

Roddy sighed. It must have been his imagination. He stood up and smoothed Rita's red hair back into place before pulling out his dinner suit. He had decided to wear it partly because it was black and therefore stealthy, partly because he felt it would blend into Paris better than his sewer rig and partly because he felt that it would somehow be better to die wearing something nice. He undid his belt.

"Ah, quite the meeting of the _sans culottes_," said Le Frog from the doorway. Clutching his trousers to himself with one hand, Roddy gestured furiously.

"Go away! Go away! Give me a minute!"

Le Frog sighed.

"I like to be fashionably late as you know, my companion-in-crime, but this is slack even for an Englishman."

Roddy glared. Le Frog was impervious and stood in the door for a moment longer, eyes flicking from the bristling Roddy to Rita's immobile form. Then he walked away. Roddy exhaled and finished changing. He took a last backwards glance at Rita and remembered something. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket, found a pencil stub and wrote a brief note, signing it at the bottom.

Then he folded it and left it by Rita's bed, and left, turning out the light behind him.

* * *

"There is something I should warn you about," said Le Frog. "The _pharmacie_ to which we are going, it will not be entirely empty." 

"Who will be there?" said Roddy, suspiciously.

Le Frog waved a hand evasively. "Not 'who', my former rival, but 'what'. And you will find out in due course, I 'ave no doubt." He looked at Roddy and grinned lecherously. "So things 'ave changed between you and the young lady, yes? I knew it when I saw you last. I am the man of the world, you know. I can sense these things."

"Last time we met you tried to kill us," said Roddy. Le Frog shrugged.

"That was business. My lumpy English cousin's fault. I am a mercenary Monsieur, mainly I follow the money but family is family. For better or worse." They opened the hospital doors and went down to the dockside where the _Jammy Dodger II_ was waiting.

"'Ow is the Toad anyway?" said Le Frog. "I do not 'ear from 'im so much since the prison business."

"I don't know," said Roddy. "Frankly I couldn't care. And frankly I'm not convinced that-"

"Oh, give it a rest!" Le Frog gave a dramatic sigh. "I am not much fonder of 'im than you. I 'ad 'eard his tale of woe so often I came to believe it 'ad appened to me."

Roddy boarded the boat and began untying the ropes.

"So why are you here now, Le Frog? Why are you helping me?"

The mercenary sat down. "That…is a family matter as well." He opened his trenchcoat and produced a yellowing photo. It was a copy of the one in the hospital's main hall. Roddy examined it.

"Yes? Well?"

"Do you think that the 'andsome example of amphibian man'ood reminds you of someone?" Le Frog tapped it meaningfully and struck a matching pose.

Roddy looked up. "The Elephant Man?" he suggested. Le Frog scoffed.

"Oh, yes, hahaha, the English sense of 'umour it never ceases to amaze, oh yes. Look closer."

Roddy did. And then he saw it.

"It's you!"

"Oui. Or rather, it is my glorious ancestor, Capitaine Gerard de la Frog. And I know 'e is standing next to your glorious ancestor, Commandant St. James."

"Commander," said Roddy. "Yes. So they founded this place together?"

"Our nations 'ad suffered much in the Great War," said Le Frog gravely. "After Versailles they stayed be'ind. In recognition of the noble act, the Republic awarded the Legion of Honour." He pointed to the medal being held by the two long-dead heroes.

"Yes?" Roddy wasn't quite getting it.

"That medal rightfully belongs to me," said Le Frog. "Gerard de la Frog willed it to be passed down to 'is descendants. Which means, to me."

"So why isn't it?"

Le Frog jabbed a finger in Roddy's chest.

"Because your ancestor willed all 'is possessions to the 'ospital- and that included the Legion of Honour, which was awarded to them both!"

Roddy handed back the photo. "Don't tell me you want me to steal from my own dead relative?"

"I am 'oping," said Le Frog. "That it will not come to that. Come. We do not 'ave much time."

Roddy moved up to the cockpit, hesitated, and stood on the pilot's side. Rita's side. It felt wrong. She was as much a part of this boat as it was of her. Without her on board, it felt like an empty house. It wasn't the _Jammy Dodger II_. It was…just a boat. Roddy fired up the engines and pulled them around before taking them out into the main drain.

"We need to go three streets west, to the Rue Jean-Nicot," said Le Frog. "You know which way west it, right?"

"On a compass it's left," said Roddy. Le Frog's face was a picture as he tried to work this one out.

"Forgive me, monsieur, but I am not always _au fait_ with English idiots. I mean, idioms. Ahahah." He chuckled darkly.

Roddy glared at him. That had been too fortunate a slip for someone not in command of the language.

"Three west, was it?" He opened the throttle a little wider and turned the wheel. The drain was widening as they approached the Seine again. The last of the daylight was slipping away when Le Frog, who had been watching the ceiling carefully, told him to pull over.

"But we can't have gone far enough!" protested Roddy.

"Indeed not, my observant companion. But this is as close as we can get. That man'ole there is our way out." He pointed a green finger. Roddy nodded and reversed the engines. There was a ladder there, a series of iron hoops driven into the brickwork, and they were able to tie themselves securely. Watching Le Frog like a hawk, Roddy activated the mechanical arm, which telescoped upwards and poked the manhole cover once or twice before levering it slightly ajar. Le Frog was up there in a flash, peering out suspiciously.

"The coast is clear," he said. "Come on, get your things." He scrambled out. Roddy sighed and picked up a grapnel on a length of string. He checked the controls once more, and followed.

* * *

Le Frog had exited the drain with a professional commando roll and was lurking in the shadows behind a bin with practised ease. Roddy, on the other hand, banged his head on the manhole cover and ambled over, rubbing it. Le Frog glowered. 

"We are really going to 'ave to work on your skills," he said. "Now, we go up and over."

"Up and over what?" asked Roddy.

Le Frog made no answer, but set off up the vertical wall before remembering something.

"Pass me the grapnel. I will affix it at the top."

Roddy hesitated, but remembered that he had little choice but to trust him. He passed the hook up, and Le Frog carried on. At the top of the building, he clipped the hook into place and waved.

Roddy gritted his teeth. Heights had never been his strongest suit. Bracing both feet against the wall, he began walking up slowly, trying not to think about the drop that rapidly opened up behind him. Taking care to place his feet in the gaps between bricks, he made good progress until a patch of mortar crumbled and he fell back, legs and tail flailing wildly above the two-storey fall before he was able to regain control. He hauled himself over the ledge and the top and collapsed, panting. Le Frog was tapping his foot impatiently.

"We will never get there like this," he said. Roddy heaved himself upright.

"This…problem. You said…there would be someone…there? What…was it?" he asked in between breaths.

Le Frog grinned nastily. "Oh, nothing much. Just…_un petit chat_, that is all."

Roddy froze. "A cat?" All rats harboured in their souls a primal fear of their natural predator. Le Frog, who didn't, nodded.

"It is a good thing there are two of us, no? Now come on. Get your grapnel and follow me. We are very close now." He set off. Roddy unhooked the grapnel and followed, taking in their surroundings for the first time. Paris is a low-built city with few tall buildings. The Rue Jean-Nicot was close to the Champs de Mars, the grassy open space around the Eiffel Tower. The Tower itself was passing into twilight, a skeletal shadow against the western horizon. As Roddy admired it, the lighting array blinked on. The great monument to the age of iron and industry was transformed into a breathtaking spear of luminescence, topped by a glittering crown of red navigation lights. Rita would have loved it.

Rita…

Roddy shook his head. He couldn't afford distractions. What would his forebear have thought of it? Commander August St. James, RNVR, wouldn't have allowed it! By Jove, no, stiff upper lip and all that. Just not cricket. King and Country, sir, that was the ticket, what! Roddy imagined himself pacing the storm-lashed decks of a dreadnought, far out in the North Sea. The image gave him strength and he pressed on. Le Frog was waiting for him beside an open vent in the roof of a building. Far below was an illuminated sign reading 'PHARMACIE'.

"This is it," said the mercenary. "You go first."

"Me? What about the cat?" Roddy exclaimed. Le Frog sighed.

"The cat will not be in the air ducts. You will need to find a way into the storeroom. I will be right be'ind you."

"What about the cat?" insisted Roddy.

"You seem to fixate on the cat, my fretful friend."

"Of course I do! It's a cat! Cat! C-A-T!"

"Thank you for the refresher course of English spelling," said Le Frog, unmoved. "Now get in the vent. And look on the bright side- if it sees you first, I will be left unmolested to get the medicines we need! There is a word in French, _luerre_, it translates as 'decoy'."

"Really? There's a word in English which translates as 'no chance, you slimy green bast-'" Roddy stopped himself just in time. "All right, all right. Let's get this over with."

* * *

Roddy walked down the duct, shivering in the chill breeze. He found a vent and peered down. The room below was illuminated by two shafts of silver light coming from the window but was otherwise dark. His keen eyes picked out two tables covered with equipment- beakers, monitors, thermometers- and a low bench running around the room covered in small boxes. This must be it. 

"Good work," said Le Frog, joining him. "Now we just need to get in there."

"How? I can't fit through this vent!" Roddy demonstrated. "I can barely get an arm through it."

Le Frog shook his head. "I am thinking we should more…drop in on them. _Bon chance!_" He kicked at a latch on the floor, which opened an access hatch right underneath Roddy, who barely had time to protest before he dropped like a stone. He landed awkwardly in a pile of strangely-shaped objects and struggled to stand up. Above him, Le Frog dropped neatly out of the ducts and landed soundlessly on the bench. He went over to a pile of boxes and began peering at them.

"That was a dirty trick to pull!" hissed Roddy. "How did you know I'd land safely?"

"You did? Oh, that is good news," said Le Frog.

"Yes! But I wouldn't have were it not for this bowl…of…dried…food." Roddy looked around, a sinking feeling in his heart. There was another bowl nearby filled with water.

"Dried…cat food, to be exact."

He scrambled out, as if the biscuits had suddenly turned corrosive. Le Frog was reading the labels on the boxes aloud and discarding them carelessly, throwing them over his shoulder.

"You would not think they could need so many pills, would you?" he said conversationally. "I mean, 'ow much can go wrong with them? 'Umans, they are a strange breed."

Roddy picked up a box which had slid under the table, and looked up as he got the feeling that a patch of empty air had just been filled. Two eyes regarded him contemptuously.

"Le Frog!" he cried, dropping the box and edging backwards. "I think the cat's here!"

"Good, so you know where it is?" Le Frog threw another box aside. "Keep it distracted. Keep its attention."

"I've _got_ its attention! I don't _want_ its attention! It's staring at me!" He backed away and bumped into the table leg. He screamed with the shock. The cat had wandered forwards into the light. It was a ginger one, sleek and deadly and clearly willing to add _rat tartare_ to its dinner. It leapt gracefully, and Roddy scrambled desperately aside. The cat landed on the box he had dropped, slid, and cannoned into the table leg. There was a rattle from above, and a cascade of objects began falling. Roddy got to his feet, dodging them, and continued walking backwards as the cat gathered itself and stalked after him.

"Please don't! Not here! Not now!" He looked desperately for an escape. Le Frog tossed another box, which landed corner-first on the cat's head just as it was about to leap. It glared at Roddy vengefully, determined to repay the prey for this indignity. Roddy stepped backwards again, and fell over something. The cat sauntered towards him as he stared frantically at it. He would not get away this time. It gathered itself for another leap.

A glass beaker which had been knocked over finally reached the edge of the table. It fell right in front of the cat and shattered with a _pock_ noise. Shrapnel pattered down. The cat shied away momentarily, and Roddy was given the time to look at what he had fallen over. It was a long metal tube, affixed at one end to a round ceramic plate. A small red button was at that end, marked 'ALLUMER'- 'ignition'. A rubber hose led from the base to a silver valve in the wall. Roddy grinned. Maybe there was a way out!

The cat prepared to pounce. This charade had gone on long enough! But instead of being met by the cringing, black-suited prey it had expected, it saw a determined figure standing astride a metal tube.

"Come and have a go if you think you're fast enough!" shouted Roddy, remembering the first time had heard Rita issue that sing-song challenge. He stamped his foot on the red button, and a blue flame blasted out of the tube. The cat recoiled in terror. Roddy advanced, struggling with the Bunsen burner. Its metal heated up fast, and he dropped it. As it hit the floor, the flame changed from the pencil-thin blue torch to a wider, brighter yellow. It spluttered, sending out sheets of burning gas. The cat yowled, leapt onto the bench and then bounced out of the window, ignoring the fact that it had been shut at the time. Le Frog watched it go, and peered down to the floor. Roddy was rolling around feverishly, trying to put out a fire on his left sleeve.

"Good thinking, monsieur! And the prize is ours!" Le Frog waved a box triumphantly. Inside was a sheet of plastic, moulded foil covering the precious green-and-white tablets. He stamped on four of them, and stuck three in his belt. The fourth he tossed to Roddy, who was dusting himself down. Roddy caught it across his chest, staggered, and grinned. They had done it!

* * *

Jean-Jaques cracked open the tablet carefully, and poured the white powder inside into a beaker of water. He took a staple and stirred it until it was well dissolved, then nodded to Roddy. 

"It is time. Sit her up, please."

Roddy, assisted by one of the short nurses, sat Rita up in bed. She made no move to resist them.

"Now," said Jean-Jaques. "She will have to drink this. All of it. Are you ready? Here we go." He put the beaker to her lips. The nurse held Rita's head back.

"It would be ironic, yes, if she were to now die of drowning?" Jean-Jaques looked at Roddy's face and saw that it wouldn't be. It took whole minutes for Rita to finish the water, and when she did, Roddy lay her back down and straightened the sheet covering her.

"How long?" he asked.

"Not long. Maybe a day before we see the fever drop. Another day, maybe two, before she can awaken. There is nothing to do but wait to see if it works."

"If? You mean it might not?" Roddy was horrified.

Jean-Jaques shrugged. "It should. But there are no certain things in medicine, Mr St. James."

"What if it doesn't?" Roddy looked at Rita.

The doctor rubbed his chin. "Well, then we give her the other tablets of course."

"And if that doesn't work?"

Jean-Jaques raised an eyebrow meaningfully and made an appropriate gesture with his hand. Roddy swallowed nervously.

"I…I would like to stay with her, please."

"Suit yourself," said the doctor. "But I would like to talk with you about your ancestor. You see, we have unearthed his final will and testament. I think you would be interested. After all, you are his last remaining kin."

Roddy stared. "Meaning what?"

Jean-Jaques took a bundle of black material from the nurse.

"Well…firstly, that this is now yours." He handed it to Roddy, and then held up the ornamental sabre. "August's old uniform. We only kept it here because we did not know who it should be given to. August brought no family with him, you see. Now we know. And…if I may say so…I think he would have been proud of you." He smiled.

Roddy took the sabre.

"Thank you…this is..well…amazing."

Jean-Jaques smiled again. "I will leave you two alone." He left quietly. Roddy unfolded the uniform. After all these years, it was in pristine condition. The medals still shone and the braid glittered. He turned to Rita.

"You said we might find my family here, Rita," he said. "It turns out…that you were right." He put the uniform down next to her clothes and sat beside her again. He took her hand.

"It's been quite a day. Maybe I'll be able to tell you about it when you wake up. I'll be here when you do. However long that takes."

He looked at her face. The twitching had stopped, but the poison in her bloodstream was taking its toll. A coil of hair had fallen across her nose. Roddy gently replaced it.

"However long it takes," he promised. "However long."


	6. The Rue Jean Nicot

Rita had expected to wake up to pain, but that turned out to be wrong. Her eyes opened and slowly focused on an unfamiliar ceiling. This couldn't be the _Jammy Dodger II_! She was on a comfortable bed, and one not made from a sponge either. Wait…weren't they in Paris? At the...what was it Roddy had called it? The Hotel d'Invalides? That sounded familiar. Voices filtered into her consciousness. An elderly one with a Breton accent was speaking.

"…too long, Mr St. James. You need rest. You can barely stand." The figure talking was short, round and elderly, wearing a white coat.

"I'll be fine, doctor, really. I'm just…a little tired." It was Roddy's voice, but it didn't look like Roddy from the back. The speaker was tall and wearing black like Roddy, but gold sparkled on his sleeves.

"A little tired? Hah, yes, like she was a little under the weather. Get some sleep, Mr St. James, or we might have to put you in a bed as well. You have been here for two days."

"Just five minutes longer. Please?"

"Three. But ah! Maybe not- I think we are no longer alone in the room." The white-clad rat pointed. The black-clad one span around and Rita recognised him even as the smile spread over his familiar features.

"Rita! You're awake at last! Oh, thank heavens!" Roddy knelt by her bed, relief plain in every movement. Rita smiled weakly.

"I'm awake, Roddy…have you been here the whole time?"

"He has hardly left your side," said the doctor. "My name is Jean-Jaques. I am pleased to meet you. As I was just telling Mr St. James, he has almost hospitalised himself through worrying about you."

Rita turned her eyes to Roddy, who looked away, blushing.

"He is a good friend, is he not?" Jean-Jaques wrote something down on a clipboard. "I am glad to see you so well. I will keep you here for a little bit longer only. Shall I send for a nurse to help you dress?"

Rita looked at the pile of her clothes and realised that she was wearing a thin medical gown. "No, thank you. I can manage."

Jean-Jaques smiled. "But of course. Mr St. James? Could you come with me?"

Roddy nodded. He stood up. Rita laughed.

"Roddy? What are you wearing?"

He glanced down at the Royal Navy uniform he was wearing. "Oh, this? Well, it's funny you should mention that. There's quite a story to it…but basically, you were right when you said we might find my ancestor here."

Jean-Jaques coughed meaningfully. He was a patient sort, as all doctors are, but he had been severely tested over the last two days. Roddy patted Rita's hand and went with the doctor. Rita sat up in bed and reached for her jumper as they shut the door behind them.

* * *

"Was it the uniform?" said Roddy to Jean-Jaques as they waited outside. "I'm sorry, I just thought I should try it on."

The doctor shook his head. "No, no! It is yours after all. This is about August St. James' will. He granted us executive privileges in the absence of any direct relatives. So that privilege now falls to you."

"What does that mean?"

"Simply put, that his things are now your things to decide what to do with. Over the years there is not much left besides that uniform and the sword, but still, you should be told."

Roddy nodded, absorbing this. The door opened and Rita, fully dressed, joined them.

"Hello again, Roddy. Excuse me, doctor."

Roddy grinned. "Hello again. I'm sorry, doctor, can we possibly-"

"No! No! Back in there with you!" Jean-Jaques shooed them back into the room. "Tonight you can go, if I am satisfied that she is recovered! But not before. I am sure you have much to discuss."

* * *

Rita regarded him in amazement. "You did what?"

"Like I said, that was the only way to get the medicine. It wasn't so bad." Roddy shrugged casually. "A piece of cake. Roddy St. James saves the day. Again."

"But Le Frog? What did he want?"

"He said it was a family affair, whatever that means. It's a funny thing, but apparently his ancestor and mine worked together to found this place just after the war. Small world isn't it?" Roddy sat back and finished his tea. A nurse had brought them lunch and they were eating it in Rita's room. She was sitting on top of the bedclothes and getting visibly stronger with every bite.

"Anyway, it all worked out. And there's something you'll have to see. When we leave there's a place I want to take you. You'll love it."

Rita swallowed the last of her food and put the plate aside.

"So you've really been watching over me for two days?"

Roddy nodded uncomfortably. "Well, I didn't have anything better to do," he said.

"Thank you for that," said Rita quietly. "I mean…for everything. I think I owe you one."

"Does this mean you'll listen to me now?" asked Roddy playfully. Rita laughed.

"Pardon, Roddy?"

"I said, does that mean you're going to start listening to me?" he repeated.

"Pardon, Roddy?"

"I said, does that- oh, right. Very droll." The penny dropped at last. Those green eyes were laughing at him again. He smiled back. He still felt tired- two days without sleep following a night spent purely on adrenaline would demand payment with interest, he knew- but for now, with her, he had never felt more alive.

* * *

Jean-Jaques finally relented and let them go just before nightfall. He waved them goodbye as they walked down the corridor towards the front door. Rita was leaning almost imperceptibly against Roddy as they walked.

"You really fought off a cat with a flamethrower?" asked Rita.

"I wouldn't say that…actually, yes. That's true. All in a day's work." Roddy raised his chin proudly. Rita poked him in the ribs.

"All right, all right. You're not going to let me forget about this, are you?"

"What, that I saved your life? Oh, I think I'll be reminding you of that quite often from now on. With all due respect, captain."

"Such as when?"

"Oh, you know. Whenever you make me bucket out the hold. Mop the decks. Make me sit next to your grandmother. That sort of thing."

Roddy held open the hospital doors and they emerged into the drains. The _Jammy Dodger II_ was moored nearby.

"Madam! Madam!" Rita turned. A nurse, one of the tall ones, was hurrying down the corridor, waving something.

"You left this in your room, Madam. I thought it would be important." She passed it over. It was a folded piece of paper.

"I found it under the bedside table," said the nurse. "I expect it had fallen off."

"Thank you," said Rita, puzzled. "But I'm not sure what it is."

The nurse shrugged and left. Rita examined it critically.

"It's some kind of note. Who could it be from?"

Roddy's heart stopped. He'd forgotten about the note! The one he wrote to her before leaving with Le Frog! How could he have been that stupid! He should have taken it back. But now she had it, and Roddy realised that his immediate future was no longer in his hands.

"Come on, we'd better be going," he said briskly.

"No, hang about. She seemed to think it was important." Rita opened the note. Roddy took her hand and tried to lead her toward the boat, but she stood her ground, shook him off and stared at the handwritten words. Roddy looked around desperately, but there was no escape route and little chance of a fortuitous pit opening up beneath him. Nor was there any denying what he'd written. Rita read it in silence, and looked up. Tears appeared to well up in her eyes and she threw herself at him, embracing him tightly.

"You see? Most of the time you're just…Roddy St. James of Kensington. And then you go out to risk life and limb for me, and you write something like this in case you don't come back!" She hadn't felt like this since that day in Kensington when he had handed her the jewels- the last time he had provided the answer to her prayers. He probably hadn't meant to this time as the note had all the hallmarks of having been forgotten. But so long as he meant what he had written, Rita couldn't have cared less.

"Well…I meant it." Roddy patted her back awkwardly. She raised her head and looked him up and down. Then she stepped closer.

"Uh, Rita…what are you doing?" Roddy hesitated anxiously. It wasn't that he wasn't enjoying the proximity, but he wasn't sure what happened next in this sort of situation.

"Leaving you a note, of course," she replied. She moved closer again and put a gentle hand on his cheek, drawing him closer to her. Their eyes met. Roddy could feel her breath, warm against his face…

"Ahem! I trust I am not interrupting something important, my Britannic acquaintances?"

Roddy could have sworn out loud. Of all the times! Of all the places! Le Frog had materialised behind them and had been watching them with an amused air.

"Important? Good heavens, no, what gave you that idea?" He glared. If anything, Le Frog's grin grew wider. Rita stepped forward, arms crossed and one of her looks on her face- the kind of look which made you wish it could have killed you, because what was about to happen would make that seem easy.

"What do you want, greenskin?" she demanded.

"Ah, I see she is as aggressive as ever! This is a private matter between myself and...ahah, the Commander 'ere. You can return to your own private matter with 'im soon. Normal service shall be, as you say, resumed." Le Frog beckoned at Roddy, who didn't move.

"What is it?" he said, wrapping his hand around the hilt of August's sabre. He had no idea how to use it and would probably be a danger to himself before being one to the wily mercenary, but it made him feel better.

"You remember our little _tête-à-tête_? My noble ancestor's medallion? The Legion of Honour?"

"What of it?"

"I am 'earing," said Le Frog. "That you are now executor of your ancestor's will. Such as it was."

"How could you possibly- no, I really don't need to know that." Roddy shook his head. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"I want you to give it to me," said Le Frog. "What do you think? We should use it for tiddlywinks?"  
"Look, I'd love to. It means nothing to me. But I don't have it!" Roddy spread his hands innocently. Le Frog sighed, and pointed to his chest. Roddy looked down, and noticed the medal, which was hanging from one of his buttons. He shrugged, unhooked it, and passed it over. Le Frog, who had clearly been anticipating confrontation, seemed a little taken aback at this anticlimax.

"Well. Thank you. Maybe you English 'ave more 'onour than I thought." He put the medal into his inner pocket.

"So this is _au revoir_, my forebear's companion. I 'ope our next meeting can be as convivial." He bowed low to Roddy and turned to Rita. He took one of her hands in his, closed his eyes and made to kiss it goodbye. Frowning, she jerked it away at the last moment and Le Frog kissed his own palm for a long three seconds before realising what had happened.

"Nobody," he said threateningly, "saw that. Yes?"

"Saw what?" said Rita, sweetly.

Le Frog glared at her again, and departed with as much dignity as he could muster. Rita, suppressing hysterics, turned back to Roddy, who relaxed his grip on the sabre hilt.

"I guess you're not the only one who takes their family history seriously!" said Rita. "Come on. Let's go." She boarded the _Jammy Dodger II _and looked back. Roddy was standing by the gangplank.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

He grinned, and stood to attention. "Requesting permission to board ship, Captain Malone, ma'am!"

Rita laughed and snapped to attention herself, pulling off a crisp salute in return.

"Permission granted, Captain St. James! Welcome aboard."

Roddy came aboard and pulled in the gangplank. "Well, thanks awfully," he said, tapping the gold braid on his sleeve. "But it's _Commander_ St. James, not Captain. Don't worry, you still outrank me."

"Oh, Roddy," Rita smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "On this boat, I'd outrank you if you were the Queen herself."

"Now that's a theory I'd pay to see tested," said Roddy.

"You'd pay to see a lot of things," said Rita. "Now where was this place that I absolutely must see?"

"Oh…it's not far. It's on Jean-Nicot. About…three streets west." Roddy moved up to the controls to start the engine and realised he was standing on the pilot's side. He looked back to Rita, who sat down in the stern and made an expansive gesture with one arm.

"Lead on, MacDuff!"

Roddy bowed graciously and turned back to the controls. Rita watched him for a while, and pulled the folded note out of her back pocket. She read it again, a quiet smile spreading over her face.

* * *

An observer on the rooftops of the Rue Jean-Nicot would have seen an unusual sight. Two rats were sitting on the edge of a gutter, facing towards the Champs de Mars and talking softly. One wore a green jumper and Union Jack trousers, and her companion wore Royal Navy black. There were no observers, of course- nobody came up here except the ginger cat from the pharmacy, which had been strangely out of sorts since the unexplained break-in and in any case had decided to avoid all rats for the time being.

"I knew you'd like it," said Roddy. "As soon as I saw it I knew I'd have to bring you here."

"It's beautiful," Rita said. "I can't believe we're actually doing this, Roddy. Who'd have thought either of us would be here? Looking at the Eiffel Tower in Paris?"

"I hear it's the best place to look at the Eiffel Tower," joked Roddy.

Rita smiled and looked across the panorama. On the gutter ledge between them, their hands touched.

"This is perfect," she said.

"This isn't the best of it," promised Roddy. "Watch."

The sun set slowly, and, just as they had done two nights before, the lights on the Eiffel Tower blazed into life. Roddy watched Rita's face carefully, marvelling at how the spectacle was reflected in her green eyes. The lights of the city glittered.

"Amazing," she said quietly. Rita shifted closer to Roddy and leaned against him. He put an arm hesitantly around her shoulders as they watched the lights. Rita relaxed and then paused as she felt something.

"Roddy," she said coyly. "Is that a sabre in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?"

Roddy looked down, embarrassed.

"Actually, that _is _a sabre. Sorry about that. I forgot to take it off." Rita sat up and watched him fumble with the clasp, which finally opened and allowed him to put the ornamental weapon aside. He grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry, I'm not very good at this."

"There'll be time to learn," said Rita. "We've got a whole continent to explore. Something tells me that my family won't be waiting up for us to come back."

"You do want to go back, though, right?" asked Roddy.

"Oh, yes. But not quite yet. I've been in France for less than a week and spent most of that time unconscious."

"You think you've had problems. I've been here for less than a week and spent most of that time worrying about you. All those moments when I wasn't in mortal fear for my own life, that is. My dinner suit will never be the same."

She smiled at him. He smiled back, and this time words really weren't necessary. They leaned together and kissed. It had been weeks in the making and seemed almost as long in the executing, but it was clear from their faces when they broke apart that each one felt it had been worth the wait.

Behind them, the Eiffel's lights blazed, illuminating a night which for Roddy and Rita at least, was no longer so dark.


End file.
